


50/50 Horror and Hope

by icarus_chained



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Altered Mental States, Booby Traps, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear, Grief, Guilt, Hope, Love Confessions, Past Relationship(s), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: Nick and Nora bump into another of the wasteland's lovely pre-War booby traps, this time in the form of an experimental psycho-like drug. Nick is immune. Nora isn't. And a whole bundle of trauma, both pre- and post-war, comes home to roost.It's not all horror, though. There's always hope. And love.
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Male Sole Survivor, Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine
Comments: 24
Kudos: 99





	50/50 Horror and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by my being reminded of how much I love Nick Valentine and how I would absolutely burn the entire Commonwealth to the ground for him if pushed.

The post-nuclear wasteland was full of horrors. Well, anyone could have guessed that. The thing that struck Nora the hardest, though, the thing that the wasteland, with its ruins and its far more lenient approach to other people’s property, had almost gone out of its way to show her, was that a way-too-large chunk of those horrors had been there _before_. Back in her time. They’d already been waiting, locked behind closed doors and squirrelled away in military bunkers. In Vaults. In government think tanks and chem labs. In _homes_.

For every raider and deathclaw and ghoul out here, every product of 200 years of radiation and barbarism, there was also another little nest-egg of pre-War horror too. Internment camps. Human experimentation. Field testing on their own soldiers ( _Nate_ ). Written-off murders and ‘collateral damage’ swept under the proverbial rug. Not just the odd case here or there, but _everywhere_. Everywhere. Every goddamn terminal she seemed to find.

Enough that she had to wonder how … how she’d _missed_ it, way back when. Back in that bright, green, sunshine-filled world in her memories. How she hadn’t noticed …

But maybe she had. Maybe they all had. There’d been so many things in the run-up to that fateful day that … had seemed wrong, or worrisome, at least a little bit, but … but people had to do their bit. Right? For the war, for freedom, for the American Way. Some things just had to be done. And yeah, okay, maybe some of your neighbours disappeared now and then, and maybe on deployment your husband got so strung out on military grade chems that he never quite got over it afterwards, and maybe at the office you had to look the other way when certain cases appeared on the court docket and then vanished right back off it again, but …

But you had to do your bit. You had to look away. Because if America lost the war …

Well. It was the end of the free world, wasn’t it? The end of civilisation. The end of a way of life. Nothing but slavery and horror remaining.

The irradiated wasteland of horrors 200 years down the line would seem to give credence to that. Just a little bit. But she couldn’t help but wonder, now. Having seen it, so much of it, at its best and worst. Having seen how much of the worst came right from way back when, and how much of the very best had sprung up afterwards, in spite of it and in spite of _everything_. How much people had hung on, in spite of all the lovely legacies they’d been left from that time in Nora’s memory.

Had the bombs really been the end of civilisation? Or just the coup de grace on one already on the way out?

Because wandering around out here, the horrors sure seemed to be about 50/50 for past and present. And when you looked at people like Preston. Like Piper. Even Paladin Danse. When you looked at people like _Nick_ …

50/50. Past and present. The horrors and hopes.

And right now … mostly horror.

She pulled back from the terminal. Trembling only slightly. She pulled away from the bright green words on the black screen. Words like ‘chem trials’ and ‘psycho derivative’, like ‘instinct overdrive’, ‘adrenal activation’ and ‘blackouts’. Like ‘testing shortage’ and ‘memo from upper management’. Like ‘maintenance report’ and ‘air filtration issues’. Words like ‘staff gathering for new canteen’.

New canteen. Like the one a floor down full of skeletons. Psycho derivative, adrenal activation, and blackouts. Like those worryingly shredded-looking raider corpses scattered around.

And air filtration issues. Like the hissing noise that had had both her and Nick on edge for a good ten minutes now.

On edge. Oh yes. So very much so. Creeping under her skin. Shortening her breath. Seeing things on the edge of her vision. She’d thought it was just the corpses making her uneasy. Jittery. Trigger-happy. Things as badly torn-up as that, you usually only got when there was something like a deathclaw or a pack of ferals around. More than enough to make a girl nervous. More than enough reason to be on edge, all by itself.

But it wasn’t, was it. It wasn’t all by itself. Not at all.

Ten minutes of exposure. Long enough for shortness of breath and visual disturbances to kick in. She had no idea how long this thing took to really get going, or what the effects would be. Aggression, though, almost certainly. Judging by the shredded bodies, and what she’d seen of standard psycho. Blackouts were ominous. That sounded like a full shut down of higher functions. Running on pure instinct. Hyped on aggression. Potentially no real comprehension of friend or foe.

A ticking timebomb. Potentially. Waiting to go off on whoever had the misfortune to bump into her.

Or just to be standing beside her.

“Nora?” Nick asked carefully. Right on cue. Standing over by the office doorway, watching her with worried yellow eyes. Watching as she trembled gently, gripping the desk under the terminal with both hands. Pressing down until her knuckles went pale. “You all right there, partner?”

Was she all right? Oh _god_.

At least he should be immune. Nick. The benefits of being a non-biological synth. He should be immune to the chem itself.

Which just meant that he wouldn’t fight her. Just meant that he wouldn’t be off his head enough to just let rip. It wouldn’t be two drugged-out monsters trying to kill each other. It’d be _one_ drugged out monster, trying to kill … trying to kill _Nick_. Nick Valentine, who didn’t like to hurt people. Who let raiders fucking shoot at him so he’d have a chance to try and talk them down. Nick, who wouldn’t shoot until it was absolutely necessary, until he’d tried everything else first.

Nick Valentine, stuck in yet another pre-War house of horrors, with yet another pre-War monster.

She had to get him out. _Now_. She had to get him away from her right the fuck now.

She turned to face him. The world _wobbled_. Went very strange around the edges at the motion. She clamped down on her instincts with every shred of will power she still possessed, and threw up a protesting hand against him.

“Get out, Nick,” she whispered. Watching his eyes widen. “Chems. Pre-War. In the air. You need to get out _now_. Come back when … when you can’t hear any noises anymore.”

She shouldn’t have added that last part. She knew it almost as soon as she said it. She’d only wanted him to stay out until it was safe. But the implication hit home. Of course it did. His spine straightened. His expression shot straight past alarm and right into grim stubbornness instead.

Of course it did. He was Nick Valentine.

He didn’t like to see people get hurt.

“Now that doesn’t sound like a good plan to me,” he said. Soft and gentle as he eased his way into the room. As he eased his way _closer_. “Who knows what else is in here, hmm? There must be an antidote or something. How about we try and look for it, huh?”

Nora _growled_. She heard herself do it. Petrified herself doing it. It wasn’t anger. The noise. Not yet. Fear and frustration, mostly. But she’d still … She’d still growled at him. A noise that would do a goddamn feral proud. _Shit_.

At least he had the sense to freeze slightly at the noise. Silver linings. But not enough of them.

“Get _out_ ,” she said again. Growled again. “It makes people hurt each other, Nick. It makes them _kill_ each other. You’re immune, but I’m not. Now get out of here or _so help me god_ …”

Get out of here. Please, please, _please_ , get out of here. Of all people she could bear to hurt out here … Not him. Of all of them, _not him_. He was so fucking good. So warm and steady, and ready to find even this place full of hope. She’d cut her own fucking arm off before she hurt him. If only he would _let her_.

She never understood why Nate got so upset with her. When he came home first. When he had his bad nights, when he had the sweats and the terrors and was so afraid he was going to hurt her. And later, to hurt _Shaun_. She’d never understood why her faith, her reassurances, only seemed to make it worse sometimes. Only seemed to hurt him, to make him more afraid.

She did now. God, she did now. Military grade chems. And a good man too goddamn dumb to run away from her, to get out where he’d be _safe_.

She understood so much about her husband right now. She whispered another silent apology to him. She’d said so many since she’d left him frozen and murdered in the Vault. She whispered one more, and begged him as well. If he was with her, if any part of him was with her. To help her get one more dumb idiot out of the line of fire. To persuade Nick Valentine to do what she had never done, and get the fuck out before things got bad.

But Nate, if he was with her, didn’t answer her prayer. Something else did. The god of the wasteland, maybe. The god of all the old sins, pre-War and post. Laughing a vicious, irradiated laugh somewhere. Nick, his yellow eyes dark and worried, for _her_ , did not come to his senses and back away. The ghost of her husband did not shove the poor stupid bastard out the door.

Instead, somewhere down the hall, from the other stairwell at the far side of the building, there came a noise. A series of noises. The rattle and hiss of _actual_ feral ghouls. What sounded like a pack of them.

Nora froze. Quivering. Looked at Nick. Just once. Looked at the worried widening of his yellow eyes, and the hint of terror in their depths. The hint of a man who was starting to realise that he was surrounded. That there might be monsters on all sides.

That one of them might wear the face of a friend.

And then one of the ghouls hissed again. One of those noises that the wasteland had pounded into her skull. Tied straight to her trigger finger. One of those noises that meant _enemy_. Meant _death_. Meant _defend_. 

One of those noises that flipped the switch marked ‘instinct’ and left higher functioning in the dust. Even without chemical assistance. And _with it_ …

The last thing she saw, before a 200-year-old sin swam up and drowned her, was Nick Valentine _finally_ backing away from her.

Too late. Far, far too late.

***

She came back to herself in bits and pieces. Not … not literally. Not physically. She had all her limbs, when consciousness swam lazily back in. She _hurt_ , god, she hurt, but she hurt like she’d run a marathon with no training, not like she’d been half-torn limb from limb. Nothing screamed of mortal wounds or anything.

Nothing screamed of bullet holes. She realised that, once she had a little longer to come back to herself. Nothing screamed that she’d gotten hit.

Nothing said that anyone armed had tried to defend himself from her.

Oh god. God, Nick.

She was huddled … huddled in a doorway. Crouched down, like a feral. In front of her, past the doorframe, a vista of concrete and rubble stretched away. Into daylight. Early morning daylight. She … She’d lost a night. At least one night. And she … This wasn’t the building they’d been in. She was outside, in a different ruin. This wasn’t where she’d left herself, before …

Before she lost herself. It wasn’t where she’d left herself before she’d _lost_ herself.

And possibly Nick.

She moaned faintly. Rocked forwards, bringing scabbed and scratched arms to her mouth. Bile clawed its way up her throat. Whether it was radiation or just guilt, she hadn’t a clue. She hunched over and moaned into her palms.

“… Nora?”

Soft. So soft. Wary and hesitant. Nora froze. Locked herself _solid_. Nick’s voice was scratched and thin. _Worried_. But it was … it was _there_ …

She turned. Oh, so slowly. She shifted around on her haunches to look at the room behind her.

The closet, really. Storage cupboard. Mostly intact. The bones of four walls and a ceiling. A decent defensive structure. That might … that might even have been the idea.

Nick was lying in the back corner. Well. Sitting. Sort of. Propped up against the walls. He was leaning back. Doing his best to stay as still and unobtrusive as possible. His eyes on her, and his hands carefully folded in his lap. Not shaking at all.

His naked hands. His naked _lap_. His clothes were strewn all across the room. Trenchcoat on that side. Tie and pants on this. He was naked. And covered in _gouges_.

Her breath stopped. Her _heart_ stopped. Froze over and tumbled slowly into her stomach.

Whatever she’d imagined. Whatever she’d _feared_ …

Oh god. God, not this.

She scrambled back from him. On her ass. Clawing hands and kicking legs on the rubble. Out the door. The door she’d been _blocking_. Keeping him _prisoner_. Oh god. She scrambled out and did her best to fling herself down the hill. If she’d … If she’d _hurt_ …

Instinct. Instinct overdrive. Not to kill him. Not Nick. Never Nick. People had more instincts than fight or flight. And what she’d wanted from him, what she’d been hoping for, in her secret heart of hearts …

God. God, what had she _done_?

She had to get away. Had to … _Fuck_. Get him help. If he was hurt. Help that wasn’t her. Help that wouldn’t do … That wouldn’t hurt him. She had to call someone. Find someone.

And then … Then find some supermutants. Or take a stroll in the Glowing Sea. Something. Something along those lines. Something that wouldn’t let her _hurt_ anyone.

Again. That wouldn’t let her hurt anyone _again_. God. God, oh god.

“Nora! Shit. Nora! Wait, dammit!”

She turned. She didn’t fully mean to, but his voice spun her around like a puppet on strings. He came scrambling out of the semi-intact building behind her. Wild-eyed and desperate. Still naked. Still with all his battered, maimed parts on display. His head turned wildly, searching for her, and then when he saw her, when he locked her down …

He bolted for her. Straight down the hill.

She thought about running. Thought about _shooting herself_ , honestly. But he was wild-eyed. Afraid. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore. She kept still, and let him come for her.

Maybe he just wanted a couple of hits. More than fair. More than owed.

He stopped a couple of feet from her. While she held up her hands. Carefully. To show she wasn’t armed. That she wouldn’t hurt him. That she surrendered. He stared at her. Scoured her face with his eyes. Looking for … for the monster, probably. For the thing that hurt him. She stared starkly, helplessly back. Maybe it would be enough. And then …

Then he lurched the last couple of steps, and tugged her fitfully into his chest.

She felt every muscle in her body lock up. Felt every single thing hitch and freeze in place. _On purpose_. On purpose. _Don’t hurt him_. She froze up, and he pulled her in and rocked her against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured nonsensically. His metal hand curled in her hair and tugged her head down to rest against him. “You’re all right, darlin’. You’re okay. Stay with me now. Don’t run anywhere. You’re okay.”

She couldn’t breathe. She had to fight for it. She put her hands to his chest. Wanting to push away.

“Nick,” she said. Rasped. Scraped and raw. “Nick, let me go. You have to get away. Let me go.”

He shook his head. Pulled her tighter to him. She could hear something whirring in his chest. A motor, or something. Under a lot of strain. Had she hurt him? How _bad_ had she hurt him?

“Not until I know you’re right in the head again,” he said firmly. Stubbornly. “You look like you’re getting there. You don’t know how glad I am to see that. But I need you to stay with me, partner. We’re getting there. I need you to stay with me all the way.”

She made a noise. Something like a moan, like a cry. God, she didn’t know what it was. She tried to lean away.

“Nick, Nick I _hurt you_. You have to go away. Please. Please, I hurt you.”

She had a flash, there. For half a second. Another voice, doubled over hers. Nate. Wracked and raw, climbing up from a nightmare. Lying in their bed, begging her to go away. He hadn’t. He hadn’t hurt her. But he’d dreamed he had. She heard the ghost of his voice through hers.

Just like her, Nick was too bulldog stubborn to listen.

“It’s _all right_ ,” he said fiercely. “Nora. It’s all right. I’m not hurt, kiddo. I swear to you, I _promise_. You just gotta breathe, kid. Breathe and stay with me now. Take it easy. It’s all gonna be fine.”

She laughed. A harsh crack of a thing. Her hands pushed against his chest. Panels of gouged skin. Ragged tears and holes. She shoved him fitfully. Weakly.

“Nick, you’re naked,” she whispered. Clogged with despair. “You’re naked and I _hurt you_. Please. Please go away. I can’t—”

Can’t bear it. That, of all things. She’d thought the worst would be killing him. God, she was wrong. The worst was _hurting_ him. Like that. A good man. A warm, battered, beautiful man. And she’d hurt him like that. Ripped him up and shoved him in a corner and –

Any hell the wasteland could offer was too good for her. A thousand times.

“Nick. Nick, please god, just kill me. I’m not safe. Please. Please just let me go.”

He went still. Shot still and stiff as a board. As the machine so many people thought him. She clung to him now. Half-panting in despair. And he froze, motors whirring, as he slowly pieced together what she meant.

“You think …” he started slowly. A horrified whisper. “Oh no. No, Nora, it wasn’t like that. It wouldn’t ever be like that. You’re not that kind of monster, kid. I’m okay. I swear I’m okay.”

But he would say that, wouldn’t he. Nick fucking Valentine. Too scared in case he hurt someone. Nora struggled, finally. Tried to pull away from him. Without hurting him. She had to do it without hurting him. But he pulled her back again. Gathered her in more firmly. Nearly desperately.

“You were checking to see if I was hurt,” he growled. Into her hair, quaking around her. You wouldn’t know a synth could shake. Not like that. But he was. “You weren’t that gentle about it, and you definitely weren’t that _sane_ about it, but that’s all it was. We’re two blocks over from where we were, kiddo. You slaughtered everything that so much as looked at us funny in that radius. Then you got me somewhere safe, and you tore off just about every button I had trying to see if I was hurt. I’m not. I’m _not_. But you weren’t quite sane enough to realise that yet. And I’m not … I’m not the most intact bucket of bolts in the world. Not anymore. You didn’t understand that yet. You kept trying to protect me from things that weren’t there. That’s it. That’s _all_. Jesus, kid. Do you really think you’re such a monster?”

She didn’t … She didn’t know what to tell him. She wanted to believe him. _God_ , she wanted to believe him. She didn’t know if she dared.

“You don’t know what those things do,” she managed. Thick and stumbling. “Nate, before the War … He was at Anchorage. He didn’t … come back right. Not all the way. The chems … They did things, because of the chems. He used to dream about them. To dream about doing them to _me_. Me and Shaun. God, he was so scared of himself. This was … They were making something worse. On the terminal, it said … It’s like psycho. Worse than psycho. Nate never hurt us, but he was so _scared_ of it. I’m not better than him. I’m not stronger. And Nick, Nick you _are_ hurt. I can see … You’re so hurt. I can see it. Please. What did I do? You have to tell me. What did I do?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. Just stood there, curled around her. Thinking it through. Then he … he guided her back from him a little bit. Got her back to where he could see her. Those warm yellow eyes. That gentle, battered face. He looked so sad, suddenly. He did that a lot. He did that such a hell of a lot. And now because of her.

“Well,” he said, soft and tired and warm. “I guess that explains a couple of things. Like how you react to John sometimes. I did wonder.” Nora twitched. Flinched. He shook his hand. Ran his hands down her arms until he could gather hers. “I know. Not the point right now. But you’d be surprised what I know, doll. About chems, and about what people do because of them.” He smiled crookedly. “Detective, remember? Me and old Nick both. Pre- and post-War. We’ve seen a good few things, the pair of us. Stood over a lot of needles and a lot of bodies. Believe that.”

Nora blinked a bit. Ducked her head, suddenly ashamed. Of course. Of course he would have seen …

Not that Nate was like that. Not that Nate was anything the old, pre-War Nick would have come across. He’d never hurt anybody. _Her_ , on the other hand …

“Don’t,” he said. Stooping a little to catch her eyes again. Tugging her hands gently. “Don’t do that, darlin’. You didn’t hurt anybody. I know you don’t believe me right now, but you really didn’t.” His smile went lopsided. Went sad. He took one hand back to wave it gently down his front. “I told you before, though I guess you weren’t really with it enough then for the words to mean anything. This is all just me, darlin’. Old hurts. Scuffs and dings, you know? None of this was you. It’s like I said. There’s … There’s a reason I like to keep my shirt on where I can. I’m not the most intact old bot in the wastes anymore. Not the prettiest thing in the world to look at. This wasn’t you. It’s just … just what’s under the trenchcoat these days. Sorry to say it.”

And he did. He did look sorry. He looked tired and sad and ashamed. Like it was his _fault_. That people had, that people had _gouged_ at him. Torn chunks out of him. Not. Not her. Maybe, please god, if he was telling the truth, not _her_ , but _someone_. Maybe lots of someones. How could he look ashamed that people had _hurt him_?

She was growling again. She only belatedly realised it. Took a second through a haze of sudden rage, of _blind fury_ , to realise she was growling. Like the drug was still in her veins. Like some fragment of it was still fizzing through her. Nick winced, a bit. Hunched himself a little warily. But he didn’t back up, or let go. Because he was still _bulldog stubborn_. And _stupid_.

“Yep,” he said, jogging their hands up and down a bit uneasily. “Yeah, we did this part too. Stay with me, darlin’. Nothin’ you can do now. They’re all long gone, sweetheart. Every raider and feral within two miles of here is already dead, thanks to our little rampage, and the ones that did most of this … They’re all gone, doll. Can’t protect me from things that ain’t there no more.” He smiled crookedly. “Nice and all as it is to have someone want to try.”

Have someone …

God. Was he _that_ stupid? Was he stupid enough to think that no one would …?

“ _No one should hurt you_ ,” she snarled. Not the drug. At least not _entirely_ the drug. Not this time. “No one, Nick! No one should get away with hurting you. Not me, not anyone!”

Again, there was an echo there. A doubled voice, a hint of Nate. She hoped … She hoped he would have said the same. To Nick, not just her. If she’d been the one who’d grabbed Shaun on the way out of the house. If they’d been in each other’s pods, if she’d been the one frozen with a bullet in her head, and he’d been the one out here. With Nick. Preston, Piper, all the others. All these scared, battered people, trying to do their best, in the middle of all the horrors her world had left behind it. She hoped Nate would have protected them too. The way he’d tried so hard to protect her, to protect Shaun. But he would have. She knew he would have.

Maybe he’d have loved Nick too. He was _so goddamned stupid_. So battered and beautiful and sad. Maybe Nate might have loved him too. It was so hard to do anything else.

Nick was looking at her now. Strangely. Half nervous and half … something else. His metal hand still tight in hers. “Yeah,” he said. Soft and strange. “Yeah, you said that too. Before. You … You said that too.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Gotta say, doll, these last few hours … You remember that deathclaw? The one with the egg? Gotta say, I’ve been feeling a bit like that egg this last little while. Not … _entirely_ sure how I feel about that yet. Ya know?”

She half-flinched. Half ducked away from him. Yeah. Yeah, she … There was a reason she tried not to listen to her instincts. When she wasn’t _drugged out of her skull_. She knew they terrified him a bit. He didn’t like to see people get hurt. Even people that hurt _him_. This thing inside her …

It had broken her. Nate. That pod. That shot. It had … broken something in her. If it hadn’t been for Shaun, if she hadn’t known that somewhere out there her baby needed her … 

She’d thought about sitting down. Just … sitting down. In front of the pod. And letting nature take its course. After all they’d been through. Nate’s deployment. Nate’s terrors. They’d just been getting their happiness back. They’d had Shaun. Gotten Codsworth, so Nate could feel there was someone in the house who’d protect them if they needed it. Someone to stop him if the nightmare took him over. But it hadn’t. It never had. Codsworth hadn’t had to do a thing. They’d been _happy_. 

And then the bombs had dropped. Nate had gone in one pod, she’d gone in another. And when she’d woken up, her world had ended all over again.

She could picture it happening again. With Nick. She could picture it _so clearly_ sometimes. Picture being frozen. Picture being helpless. The shot to his head. The light going out of his yellow eyes. The life.

She could picture herself doing it. Like Nate’s nightmares. So much like Nate’s nightmares. She’d killed so many people out here. She’d _had_ to, thought she had to, the amount of horrors out here. She’d killed Kellogg. Like that deathclaw, yeah. Without a thought, or a qualm. Until afterwards. Until his memories. He’d been …

She could see Nick’s point. How many people still had something to salvage in them. How many people still had good. How many horrors weren’t their fault. 

But there was still a deathclaw inside her. Even without the chems to bring it out. There was still something shaking and terrified and _angry_. She couldn’t blame him for being afraid of that. Not him. 

And no one should hurt him. Not her, and not anyone.

“… You can leave,” she whispered. Rocking their hands from side to side. “You can leave, Nick. If I scare you. If you just want to. I don’t want you to be hurt, or scared. You can leave. You can _kill me_. I’d rather that than hurt you.”

He stared at her. Something happened to his face. His expression. It _collapsed_. Crumpled entirely. He swept forward and gathered her all up again. Yanked her angrily forward into his chest.

“You’re really not the brightest bulb in the box there, are ya, darlin’?” he whispered. Thick and strangled. “You’re really not the brightest. You are the _best darn thing_ that’s happened to me in this lifetime, doll. I’m never going to raise a hand to you in my _life_. I’m not scared of you. Chemmed out of your skull, and all you did was maim anything so much as looked at me funny. I’m not … I’m not scared. I just don’t want you to do something that’s gonna hurt you later. Okay? I don’t want you to do something that gonna break you to pieces inside, just ‘cause I got hurt somehow. It’s not worth it, angel. Not for that.”

Not worth it. Him being hurt wasn’t worth it. His _life_ wasn’t worth it. And _she_ was the dimbulb here?

She grabbed him around his chest in turn. Around his battered, damaged torso. Hugged him to _her_ now too. As fiercely as any deathclaw ever grabbed anybody.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she murmured back. “Don’t be scared of this. Please don’t be scared of it. But if someone hurt you, Nick, I would burn the wasteland to the ground, and I wouldn’t regret a _goddamn thing_ afterwards. Not if they hurt you.”

God knew she’d come close to it before. The Brotherhood. She’d nearly gotten the pair of them shot off the Prydwen. The things those sons of bitches had _said_. And there were people up there that didn’t deserve to die, she knew that, but just for a second, she wouldn’t have minded at all if the entire fucking airship had taken an abrupt nosedive into the Glowing Sea.

She probably would regret it. She’d try, at least. For Nick, if nothing else. For his memory, if the worst happened. But two of them down the line, Nate and then Nick, she didn’t …

She honestly didn’t know how much regret would really be left. Not by then. Not if she had to watch them both.

It wasn’t what he wanted. Nick. It wasn’t what he _needed_. But it was all she had.

“I love you,” she whispered. Offered, burying her face into his shoulder. An attempt at explanation. “I know it’s not the kind of love you want. I know there’s too much … there’s too much deathclaw in it. But I love you. And I will never forgive anyone who hurts you. Especially if it’s me. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t … He didn’t answer. Not for what felt like an eternity. He went so still and silent in her arms. Even the motor in his chest seemed to go quiet. He went as still as though he’d been turned to stone.

And then, after a very, very long time, he brought … brought his metal hand up. To touch gently, tentatively at her head. To curl wonderingly at her nape.

“… You’re a hell of a thing, doll,” he rasped out. His voice shaking under him. “Hell of thing. Did ya scare your husband shitless too?”

Nora laughed thickly. A choked little sound as she nodded.

“Every damn day,” she said. Honestly. Entirely honestly. “He was so sure I should leave him. Wanted so bad for me to be safe. But like you said. Like you said. I’m dumb as a box of rocks. And I was _never_ running away from the best damn thing that ever happened to me. At least in that lifetime. I wasn’t ever going to run away from him. Or … Or from you.”

Not while he didn’t want her to, at least. Not so long as _he_ wasn’t scared of _her_.

He thought about that. Nicky Valentine. Naked as a jaybird in the wasteland with her. All battered and scared and in her arms. 

“… Ya think he’d be okay with that?” he asked quietly. Hesitantly. “Your guy. You think he’d be okay with you takin’ up with some battered bundle of bolts out here? Gal like you, there’s gotta be some better options, darlin’.”

Nora smiled wetly. Shook her head into his skin. There wasn’t. Not a single one. But he wouldn’t believe that. So she said something else instead. 

He wouldn’t believe _this_ either. But he couldn’t argue it the same way.

“Everything you’ve done for me, Nick. Every bit of me you’ve helped put back together. He’d have walked into a fire for you. He’d have given you anything you asked.”

And he would. _God_ , he would. He’d have done anything for her, and anything for anyone who helped her. Nick, everything Nick was, everything Nick did, Nate would have walked into fucking hell for him.

So would she. If they’d been reversed. If it had been Nate who’d lived, and Nate who’d fallen in love.

Dead or alive, she’d have done anything for either of them.

“You’re a strange kid,” Nick said softly. Hushed. Shaking gently around her. “You’re such a strange one, Nora. But I guess I … I’d best get used to feeling like that egg, then, huh? I’d best get used to being in love with the scariest damned woman in the wastes.”

She felt her chest hitch. Felt her heart stop and tumble all over again. But not frozen, this time. Not broken. She hugged him close with all she had.

“Only as long as you want to, Nick,” she whispered thickly. “Only as long as you _want_ to.”

He snorted softly. Sighed, and leaned gently back away from her. Just far enough to look. Just far enough to let her see. Warm, tired eyes, and a stupid smile.

“I want,” he said. Pressing a tiny kiss to her forehead. “Trust me, darlin’, I want. But not here. Come on, deathclaw woman. I gotta go back up this hill and put some pants back on me. We’re gonna catch our deaths out here, and not of cold either.”

Nora blinked, and then huffed out a laugh. Startled and warm. 

“Only if you want, Nick,” she said. Leaning into him. “The pants, I mean. I get if you want to wait for a … a less traumatic locale. But trust me. You don’t need to rush into them on my account.”

He blinked at her. Confused. Half-shy. All baffled and warm. And then he shook his head and tugged her up the hill.

“Definitely a strange one,” he muttered. “Strangest damned woman on the planet. Yes sir.”

Well sure, she thought. Probably. But she’d had Nate, and now Nick. Strange as she was. So she had to have something going for her. 

50/50, maybe. Horror and hope. Just like them. Both of them. Pre-War and post. Horror and hope.

And right now … mostly _hope_.

**Author's Note:**

> Um. The whole thing with Nate/Nora and the pre-war drugs and ptsd thing was not entirely intentional on my part. It just snuck in and then basically shaped the whole fic around it. Apologies.


End file.
